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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30021429">Topped Chef - Gail and Padma pt 3</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenhoffman/pseuds/jenhoffman'>jenhoffman</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Topped Chef: Gail and Padma [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Top Chef RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blindfolds, F/F, Fingerfucking, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Food Porn, Food Sex, Gay, Lesbian Sex, Oral Sex, Spanking</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 22:42:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,216</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30021429</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenhoffman/pseuds/jenhoffman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Padma Lakshmi and Gail Simmons play together in the Top Chef pantry... </p><p>This is a work of fiction and I know neither of these women IRL. Written all in good fun!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Padma Lakshmi/Gail Simmons</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Topped Chef: Gail and Padma [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2207766</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Topped Chef - Gail and Padma pt 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span>The chef contestants weren’t due for another hour and the Quickfire kitchen was empty. Padma politely asked the camera people to clear the room under the pretense of needing to discuss last night’s elimination challenge with Gail in private. Because Top Chef was a competition show, Padma knew she’d be warned over the loudspeakers before any of the competitors set foot on the sound stage. “Chefs walking!” the producers would yell to make sure judges’ opinions were kept far away from competitors’ ears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Padma wanted to hold Gail’s hand. Her whole arm felt heavy like a magnet. Gail’s arm, tanned from the Mexican sun, pulled at her. She imagined how strange they would look if they were seen, fingers interlaced, staring into each other’s eyes on an empty sound stage, but the thought of getting caught sent a warm thrill up her spine. Today, the wardrobe department dressed Gail in a teal silk blouse tucked into faded black jeans and a pair of strappy black heels. The same department opted to zip Padma into a skin-tight petal-pink dress. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Unfair</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Padma thought momentarily, squirming a little under the bright lights.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look great,” Gail said, unhooking her microphone from her shirt, clicking it off, and placing it on one of the shiny chrome workstations at the front of the room. She took her earpiece out and Padma followed suit. Padma smiled then, suddenly not so sour about her outfit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So do you, Simmons.” Padma eyed Gail up and down, really milking it. She liked when Gail wore red lipstick. Padma checked her Rolex, a gift from her first French boyfriend. “We’ve got an hour to kill. Maybe more. It’s always hurry up and wait.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wish I’d eaten more eggs this morning,” said Gail, crossing her arms. Whispering, she leaned over, “but someone was distracting me.” Her voice was gravely; mischief curled her painted lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Help!” Padma yelled. Gail looked alarmed. “Help!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck, Padma?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shhh...” Padma held her finger to her lips and cocked her head to the side, listening. “They really did clear the set like I asked,” she said, amused. Just then, she put her hand over Gail’s on the metal table. The hand was warm, the table icecold. Gail looked up at her and Padma had trouble discerning exactly what was happening behind her friend’s expression. Like a complex dish, there were hints of desire, uncertainty, and maybe sadness? “What’s wrong?” Padma tightened her hand over Gail’s, trying to imbue comfort. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gail inhaled sharply, “What are we doing?” Her muddled eyes squinted, ready to analyze Padma’s response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know any more than you do,” murmured Padma, trailing her pointer finger up Gail’s bicep. Goosebumps. “I just can’t stop thinking about you, and last night, and this morning. I couldn’t concentrate on running lines. I don’t know if I’m going to make it through today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But what does it mean?” Gail bit her lip. “We can’t just…” Padma’s fingers stroked the back of Gail’s arm, just above her elbow, and Gail’s eyes rolled back into her head. She closed them tight, trying to deliberate. “This is a dangerous game, Paddie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like dangerous games.” Padma’s voice was low and husky. “Will you come play one with me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gail scoffed at this and opened her eyes. “What are you talking about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Follow me. To the pantry.” Padma held Gail’s hand and pulled her toward the Top Chef Pantry, a cornucopia brimming with extraordinary ingredients. Around the corner, past the refrigerators stacked with scallops, bronzino, ribeyes, and pork belly; beyond the baskets of fresh-picked produce and shelves stocked with blenders, pressure cookers, and stainless steel, there was a table laden with black linen. Two chairs. One blindfold. Gail’s pulse sped up. Her chest felt like a beehive, buzzing with want.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you ready, Chef Gail, for your taste test? The winner of today’s Quickfire gets five thousand dollars furnished by our friends at San Pellegrino PLUS—” she paused for dramatic effect. “A good fucking from me, your host, Padma Lakshmi.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, if anyone else DARES win this Quickfire, they’ll need to see me first so that I can kill them on sight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The fucking portion of the prize expires in—” Padma checked her watch again— “forty-five minutes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well then we better get going.” Gail sat in one of the two chairs. It was plastic, one of those you might find at a cheap wedding or church picnic. She shook her hair off of her shoulders. “Well, go on then.” She arched her eyebrows expectantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Padma laughed and leaned down to kiss her. Minty tooth-paste, chai tea. Padma lingered for a moment in the sweetness of Gail’s breath and when Gail pushed her tongue forward, Padma snapped backwards. “Not so fast.” She wagged her finger. “You’ve got to earn it. Close your eyes.” Gail pouted but obliged. “Is it okay if I blindfold you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Gail nodded, “I consent,” her mouth curled into a half smile. “But please try not to fuck up my makeup.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I make no promises regarding the integrity of your makeup, darling,” said Padma, wrapping the dark blindfold behind Gail’s head. “In fact, if I’ve done my job, you’ll sweat it off.” Gail opened her mouth to protest and Padma leaned down to kiss her, tightening the bow as she bent down. “Or I’ll lick it off.” She bit Gail’s lower lip and sucked it. She could taste the waxiness of the velvet red lipstick. Gail moaned softly and Padma indulged Gail’s tongue for a few seconds, teasing her. Gail’s hands reached for Padma’s chest but Padma slapped them away. “Do I need to tie you up?” Mouth open, Gail could only convey shock with the unobscured half of her face. She craved to see Padma standing over her, making demands, but the blindfold was fastened tight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For every taste you get right, I’ll take off one item of clothing. Shoes count. Watches count. For every one you get wrong, you take something off. Or I’ll take it off for you.” Gail nodded again. In the darkness, she could already feel her other senses getting stronger. An unmistakably elegant mix of fragrance wafted under Gail’s nose. She could hear the freezer buzzing, a violin in the orchestra of electricity in the room. “First taste.” Padma handed a small paper cup to Gail. Inside was something bumpy and cold, like a toad. It scared her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t wanna put this in my mouth!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then I’m taking your shirt off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait! Wait. Fine.” Gail popped the mystery morsel into her mouth. “Oh! Cornichon!” The burst of intense pickle was telltale. Gail </span>
  <em>
    <span>loved</span>
  </em>
  <span> pickles. The brine lit up her taste buds. “Très bien.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Showoff,” said Padma, unclasping her watch, letting it fall with a thud onto the table. “Now this one.” Another cup. Gail touched the contents with her manicured fingertip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Liquid?” She gritted her teeth and sipped against her better instincts. “Ech!” If not for her deep desire to hold on to a shred of sex appeal in front of Padma, she would have spit it out into her hand. “What is that, beef stock?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oof, I’m sorry. That would be bone broth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Padma could see Gail’s brows furrowing underneath the blindfold. “What the? That’s not fair! What’s the difference?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About eleven bucks at Whole Foods?” Padma giggled at her own trick. She sat on the table and leaned over, undoing Gail’s top button. She was tempted to rip the silk shirt in half like notebook paper but she restrained herself. Wouldn’t want to get Simmons in trouble with Wardrobe. That department’s vengeance was powerful and to be avoided by the cast at all costs, lest they end up donning tweed jackets in the Caribbean or pencil skirts in Alaska. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blouse’s buttons were delicate and pearl-like, and she unfastened them with care. Underneath, Gail’s breasts rose and fell, strapped securely in a lace cream bra. They really were quite remarkable. Padma leaned forward and licked Gail’s left breast, dragging her tongue across it, into her cleavage, her neck moving in one slow, arcing “M.” Gail felt Padma’s mouth on her chest as she breathed in her shampoo. Memories of their shower this morning flooded her mind. She wanted to tear her blindfold off so badly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, Lakshmi.” Gail blindly groped at the air until she found the back of Padma’s head. She pulled it toward her, hungry for Padma’s lips. But Padma ducked away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will tie you up if you get handsy. Now, test this.” Another cup. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Finally, a leafy green,” Gail said upon fingering it. When she put it to her lips, she knew instantly what it was. But suddenly she had an intense inclination to lie. The question of what Padma would take off her next was too tempting. She was thirsty for it. “Parsley,” she said, trying to mask any evidence of falsehood on her face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cilantro,” corrected Padma. “What is this, amateur hour?” She pulled Gail to her feet. Her hands grabbed Gail’s breasts and squeezed. She wrapped her fingers around Gail’s back and fondled the clasp for a moment. Gail held her breath, but Padma’s hands changed direction. They grabbed Gail’s waistband and pulled her forward, unbuttoning her jeans forcefully, and yanking her zipper down. She guided the jeans down Gail’s legs and pushed Gail back into her seat, pulling the pants over Gail’s high heels. No Spanx today— Gail was wearing simple black underwear that made Padma sweat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And this?” Another cup. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Watermelon.” Padma kicked off a shoe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And this?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm... raspberry.” Gail sucked on the berry a little. The tartness was acute and delicious. She heard the thud of another shoe hitting the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rice vinegar?” Gail’s voice drifted upward; she honestly wasn’t sure. Padma lifted her back up onto her feet. She expected Padma to take off her bra or her panties, but Padma bent her over the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rice </span>
  <em>
    <span>wine</span>
  </em>
  <span> vinegar,” she commanded, spanking Gail’s ass with her open hand.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do that again,” said Gail, surprising herself. Padma’s hand landed with a smack. Gail could feel herself getting wet. “Fuck,” she whispered, as another </span>
  <em>
    <span>whack</span>
  </em>
  <span> came from behind her. The linen cloth bunched under her stomach and her hands gripped the sides of the table. “Harder.” Padma wound up and spanked Gail three more times.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t forget, you still need to lose another piece of clothing.” Padma got on her knees behind Gail and hooked her fingers over her underwear, pulling them down slowly. Gail’s ass was tender; she could feel the fabric of her panties sliding over each cheek. It was painful how leisurely Padma was moving. Gail opened her legs instinctively, praying for Padma not to leave her there in the dark. She was not disappointed. First, Padma’s hands spread Gail’s knees further apart. Then, Gail felt a nose and lips brush against her inner thighs, and Padma’s tongue finally found where Gail was wettest. She lapped her up. Biting down hard, Gail moaned into the table cloth and moved her hips in rhythm, feeling herself build. The tablecloth balled in Gail’s fists as she writhed, Padma’s tongue pressed flat against her. Short, powerful strokes with that flat tongue sent Gail over the edge. In wave after wave, her orgasm broke over her like an inevitable tide. “Fuck!” She could almost see stars on her side of the blindfold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dizzy, Gail waited for a moment, squeezing her legs, feeling Padma’s lips against her ass, kissing it, then on her back, then nibbling the nape of her neck. Padma eventually pulled the ribbon on the blindfold, letting it fall and disappear into the matching fabric on top of the table. She dragged her nails down Gail’s back, and when Gail stood up, Padma stayed behind her, wrapping an arm around her right hip and sliding three fingers over Gail’s clit. She used her other hand to grab Gail’s left breast, squeezing its firm nipple gently between her index and middle fingers. Gail gasped and pushed her bare ass backwards into Padma’s crotch, grinding against her. Padma got the message. Her fingers swirled like clockwork, as reliable as any Rolex. Gail felt her body liquifying in Padma’s arms. She craned her neck to kiss Padma, who reciprocated, taking Gail’s mouth into her own, kissing her deeply, wrist still flicking back and forth like a conductor’s. “Ah!” Gail came again, shuddering, this time the stars burst behind her eyelids. Padma’s hand was slick and finally still. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gail turned around to face Padma full-on. They stood there together for a moment: Gail naked aside from her heels and Padma just the opposite. Little paper cups littered the floor and the tablecloth looked desperate for ironing. Gail’s eyes fell on Padma’s chiseled cheekbones. Under the fluorescents, she glimpsed a single gray hair on her friend’s beautiful head. “I love you, you know,” Gail’s voice was all gravel and honey again. Her expression, now clearer that consommé, spelled sincerity. “And I get to say that without it being some big mistake, because I’ve always loved you, and you know that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Padma smiled and touched her forehead to Gail’s. “I love you too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Chefs walking!” they heard the producers yell on the other side of the pantry wall. “Judges, please prepare, we have chefs walking!” </span>
</p>
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